


Copper Candy Inside

by coricomile



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-09
Updated: 2015-07-09
Packaged: 2018-04-08 13:18:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4306563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coricomile/pseuds/coricomile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pete’s been trying to get their demo on air for three months. Three months of relentless cyber stalking and rejection letters, three months of worry. They’re going, but they’re not going anywhere fast. They’re good- he knows they are, can feel it in his bones- but without someone to back them, they’re as good as dirt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Copper Candy Inside

Pete’s willing to admit he’s a little desperate by time rejection letter thirty seven comes around. He stares down at the letter forlornly before chucking it across the room, narrowly avoiding pegging Joe in the face with the thick envelope. The CD inside slides onto the tile in the kitchen, his own handwriting scrawled across the cover.

“Maybe we should just give it up?” Joe asks, spoon hanging out of his mouth, ice cream cradled in his hand. The radio is on, Green Day through the speakers. Pete wants to smash it into the ground.

“We’re not giving up,” Pete says, teeth gritted. Not now, not when there’s so much riding on it. Joe shakes his head and wanders back into the kitchen as _Longview_ cuts back to the DJ.

Pete’s listened to Arpeggio Acoustic since it hit the air. The DJ- Patrick something or other- he’s got good taste, a better sense of humor. Pete’s seen him at shows, notebook in hand, eyes narrowed as he wrote reviews. He’s made and broken bands with offhand comments. It’s impressive for someone so small.

Pete’s been trying to get their demo on air for three months. Three months of relentless cyber stalking and rejection letters, three months of worry. They’re going, but they’re not going anywhere fast. They’re good- he knows they are, can feel it in his bones- but without someone to back them, they’re as good as dirt.

Pete’s had bands crash. It happens. He’s used to it. But this- this is real. This is real enough for him to have yanked Joe out of college, real enough for him to have spent his savings on the stupid fucking demo in the first place. If they don’t start going places, it’s all going to be on his shoulders. It’s all going to be his fault.

“Don’t forget about the Midtown show tonight,” Patrick says through the speakers, low and rich and sweet. “I’ll be there, anyway, to cheer my guys on. Here’s a taste, just so you know what you’ll be missing.”

_Like a Movie_ starts up, and Pete closes his eyes. If he can just get to Patrick, he can get them on. His people skills are the best thing he’s got going for him. There’s no way Patrick will be able to say no. Joe thumps him companionably on the shoulder, and Pete steels himself. He’s going to do it, hell or high water.

\---

Pete spends most of the show scouting for Patrick. The jewel case in his hand feels like a lead weight. If he fails this time around, it’s show over. It’s not until halfway through Midtown’s set that he sees Patrick side stage, nodding along. The singer calls him out, says they couldn’t have gotten this far without him, and Pete can just barely see Patrick’s sheepish grin.

Pete keeps an eye on him for the rest of the night, tracking him back and forth to the bar and to the stage, trying to butt himself in and always falling just short. When encore hits, he sees Patrick duck backstage. Now or never, he tells himself, and heads outside. He catches up just as Patrick’s heading to the parking lot. He takes a deep breath and nods to himself, tapping the jewel case against the flat of his palm.

“Hey,” he calls. Patrick turns, pausing. “You’re Patrick, right? From KDKX?”

“Yeah.” Patrick smiles, and it’s nice. Sweet.

“So, I know this is the shitty way to do things, but.” Pete hands Patrick the CD and promptly shoves his hands into his pockets. “You think you could listen to that? My band, we-“

“I’ve already listened to it,” Patrick says. He holds it out, the smile not quite right anymore. “It wasn’t right for the show.”

“Dude, are you sure that-“

“I got it every time you sent it in,” Patrick says, and then the smile’s gone entirely. “You never made any improvements to it.”

“I didn’t think it needed anything,” Pete says. His hackles are rising, but he can’t go off right now. It’s killing him.

“That’s your problem,” Patrick says. He hasn’t dropped his arm, still holding the CD between them like a shield. “I have to go. Can you take this back now?”

“Please,” Pete says. He takes a step forward, and Patrick takes one back. “We need this.”

“Look, I know that you want it. I can understand that, alright?” Patrick sound sincere, at least. Pete latches onto that, even though he knows it’s hopeless. “But if I played everyone that wanted to be on the radio, the show would be shit. You know?”

“Please,” Pete says again. “Is there something I can do?”

“What?” Patrick blinks, hand finally dropping down, the case hitting against his thigh. Pete steps closer, backs him up into the alley behind the venue. He never thought he’d have to fuck his way to the top.

Pete pushes him up against the wall, knuckles scraping the brick. Patrick looks at him wide eyed and confused, fists balled up against Pete’s chest, struggling to pull his arms free of Pete’s grip. Pete’s fingers are dug too firmly into the shoulders of his jacket, keeping him stuck.

“I’ll make it good. Swear to it.” Pete grins and hopes it doesn’t look as desperate as it feels as he leans in, skidding his mouth over the baby soft curve of Patrick’s jaw. He lets go and is surprised when he doesn’t get a fist to the face for his efforts. Patrick still shoves him away, and Pete takes the reluctant steps back.

“Don’t you think this is too far?” Patrick asks. He sounds so different in person- younger. Smaller. He rattles the CD in its case, waving it in front of Pete’s face angrily. “It’s just a fucking radio spot.”

“We need it,” Pete says. He sucks up his pride and moves in again. He’s many things, but smart’s never been one of them. “You play that a few times a week, and we’ll be good to go. People listen to you.”

Patrick shakes his head, and Pete feels his stomach sinking. His plan is backfiring before he’s even gotten the chance to prime it. His knees hit asphalt before he’s really thinking about it, hands tangled up in Patrick’s jacket again. It’s almost funny, except for the part where he can already feel the bile in his throat. How the mighty have fallen. He presses his face to the rough cut of Patrick’s jeans, breathes him in and figures it’ll be worth it.

“Stop,” Patrick says, fingers gripping into Pete’s hair and pulling his head back. His eyes are dark, and his face is going a steady shade of pink, and either he’s into it, or Pete’s about to get his ass kicked. “Do you really want this to be played? Do you really want it that fucking bad?”

“I’m not doing this for my health,” Pete says dryly. The pull on his hair is making his eyes water, and his hands are still firm on Patrick’s hips, holding him steady as he tries to stare Patrick down. Something passes over Patrick’s face- shuttered, quick, not quick enough for Pete to miss- and he smiles wryly.

“Imagine that,” he says quietly. He shoves the demo into his coat pocket, and Pete thinks they might be good. Patrick’s fingers tense in Pete’s hair for a second before he lets go. “It’s not good enough.”

“Fuck you,” Pete says, and regrets it almost immediately. Patrick grins though, small but impossible to miss.

“I didn’t say it couldn’t be.” Patrick hauls him up and nods to the parking lot. Pete’s chest goes tight as he heads for it. Patrick’s reconsidering his offer after all. When they slide into Patrick’s car, Pete shoves the demo onto the dashboard and ducks his head against his chest. He feels disgusting. “It just needs some polishing.

The ride is silent. Patrick flicks the radio on, his leg jittering against the driver’s side door. Pete’s tense the whole way. When they pull up in front of the station, Pete’s surprised.

“Here?” He asks, climbing out of the car after Patrick.

“Where else would we go?” Patrick rattles the CD again and locks the doors. “I know I’m kind of nerdy, dude, but even I don’t have my own mixer.”

“Mixer?”

“If you want this thing on the air, you’re going to have to fix it,” Patrick says, slow. “I can help you with that.”

“So you’re not going to-“ Pete waves at his face in a motion that he hopes conveys _fuck my mouth_. Patrick scowls.

“I’m not actually an asshole,” he says. He unlocks the station doors with more force than is strictly necessary and motions Pete in.

Patrick spends three hours showing Pete how much of an asshole he isn't. He makes Pete play the bass three times over, makes him do vocals six times more. It's not a real studio- not that Pete can talk- but the mics are better than anything Pete has, and when Patrick does playback, it already sounds scores better. He tries to explain what he's doing as he's doing it, but Pete's mostly stuck on listening.

The song improves by leaps and bounds, changing under Patrick's hands. It's still theirs, mostly, but cleaner. Nicer. The guitars aren't as sharp as they probably should be- neither one of them can play the parts to rerecord- but it sounds- It sounds-

"This is fucking great," Pete says, a little awed. Patrick shrugs.

"You could have done it on your own." He sounds kind of disappointed. He burns the song to a new disk and carefully rewrites the title. "Next time, try fixing it instead of-"

Pete kisses him. Patrick shoves him onto the floor.

'I already said I'd play it," he says, wiping at his mouth angrily. It makes his lips turn a darker shade of red, and Pete narrows in on it. Patrick's actually kind of hot, when he's not standing between Pete making and breaking it. "You don't need to fuck your way onto the station anymore."

"What if I want to fuck you anyway?" Pete asks. And, okay, maybe that's not quite what he meant to say, but Patrick made their song into something great, something he never thought it could be. Patrick glares.

"Look, I helped you out when I didn't have to, don't be an asshole." He switches the board off and stands, grabbing the demo. "Now get out."

"Hey, wait-" Pete grabs Patrick's wrist. He feels like a dick, and he's not entirely sure why. "I said that wrong. What if I, like, wanted to take you out?"

Patrick's silent for a long time. He leads Pete back to the car, dropping the CD off on a desk on the way out, and slides into the driver's seat. The radio comes on too loud, but Pete doesn't reach to turn it off, even as Patrick starts

"Bring me two songs," Patrick says when they pull into the parking lot. He cuts the engine, and the silence is deafening. Pete raises is eyebrows, grin already growing across his face. "Bring me two songs that are worthy of going on my show, and I'll consider your offer."

"Deal," Pete agrees. Tonight has been, well, pretty fucking awesome, actually. "See you soon."

\---

Their demo plays the next night on the air. Pete listens to it with Joe and they take a victory lap around the house to celebrate. They're going to be okay. They're going to make it. Pete's going to make sure of it.


End file.
